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Dead Frontier/Issue 130
This is a preview for Issue #130 of Dead Frontier, titled Him. This is the fourth issue in Volume 22. Issue 130 - Him Luckily, the hysteria in Denver calms down considerably after forty eight hours. Miraculously, most of the refugees have been assimilated into one of the city's southwest sectors, and the majority have undergone the standard medical exams necessary for entry. Really, it's just a simple blood test and a few questions about any possible medical issues. It shouldn't have taken very long, but with the sheer amount of people to test, Heidi hasn't slept for these last two days. She sits at her desk with bags under her eyes, her hand on the mouse of her computer. She dozes off, snaps her head up when she realizes she's fallen asleep. She sits back in her chair, closes her eyes and looks forward to some much needed rest when the door to her bleak and dark office flies open. Natesh stands there, looking as distressed as Heidi has ever seen him. His shirt is untucked in the front, and his blazer hangs sloppily on his shoulders. And in his hand sits a folder. Immediately, he throws it onto her desk. She looks up at him oddly. “Natesh--” "There were some discrepancies in some of the blood tests," he says, cutting her off brusquely. Always straight to the point. "The top one, especially." His hair, usually combed neatly, lies wildly on his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Her--her sample--” He trails off, absolutely baffled. Heidi opens the folder slowly, met with a file titled "Ivy Harris, age 12." ---- Andrew hears a faint tap on the door his new, but temporary, apartment. The conditions aren't as great as he would have liked, but he has a mattress, food, a TV. He's not going to complain too much. He peels himself away from the couch, making sure to grab a shirt to slip on along the way. He opens it, and Lucy stands before him. She forces herself to smile. "Hey," he says. He wonders if he looks half as tired as she does. "How ya liking your new place? Lovin' the TV, I bet." "I actually haven't tried it yet," she says. "You're missin' out. I've got a shit ton of DVDs in here if you wanna check 'em out." He moves away from the doorway, and gestures for her to enter. He walks back over to his couch and picks up a few of the DVDs scattered along his coffee table. "Let's see...I've got The Godfather, parts one and two. Uh...Pulp Fiction...Saving Private Ryan--" He looks up with the case in hand and feels ridiculous. She obviously isn't here to talk about the classics. He sets the case back down slowly and clears his throat. "Could you help me with something?" she asks. "Y-yeah. Of course. Whatever you need." He points over to the kitchen table. She takes a seat, and he sits in the chair next to her. "I tried going to the...the town hall or whatever you call it here but they--they just shut me out," she begins. "Whenever I tried to ask them anything." "Why were you all the way over there?" he asks. "I want Cole to have a funeral. It doesn't have to be proper or--or complicated. He just needs one. They said they couldn't help me. I don't know my way around yet and I-I don't know where we could...actually have one." She never flat out asks him, but he can tell just by the pleading in her eyes that she wants him to come up with a solution. “Yeah. Of course, of course, I can hook you up with something,” he says with a smile. “There’s this...it’s not really a park but it’s got a sick view of the mountains and shit. I don’t remember a lot of people visiting it when I was here, but I set up a memorial for one of my buddies there. Nice place.” “That sounds perfect. Thank you,” she says. She smiles, and this time it doesn’t seem contrived at all. ---- Wrapped in thin jackets that barely protect against the cold, the entirety of the group, led by Andrew, follows him down a bustling sidewalk. They gawk at the skyscrapers surrounding them, the people milling around like the events of the last year and a half never happened. Eventually, the tall buildings morph into crumbling ones, and the nice, smooth sidewalks appear cracked and destroyed. No one mentions the drastic change in scenery after just twenty minutes of walking, and they continue on until Andrew makes a sharp right turn. They drift into an alleyway, then cross a small, empty street. Immediately, there’s a long stretch of green-and-yellowed grass, and far beyond it, the large walls that surround all of Denver. But just behind it, the tips of a wide string of mountains are visible, snow covering the tops. Lucy stops to stare at it for just a second, until Adam stops behind her and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Come on,” he urges, and they follow everyone else forward. Duke and Dean carry a few planks of wood in their arms, and Jake holds a small box of tools. Everyone waits patiently as they assemble it in silence, hammering nails into the wood, adjusting it accordingly until it's in the shape of a crude cross. Paint would probably be better, but all they could muster up was a thick permanent marker that Jake uses to write his name slowly, carefully. He’s in absolute concentration as he forms every letter and number. He hasn’t drawn in so long, but he still has that artist’s hand. The elegance of the letters gives the otherwise plain and crude cross some beauty. “Should I a-add anything else?” he asks, looking up from his place on the ground. All eyes turn to the cross: Cole Pruitt July 25, 1987 - October 29, 2013 “That looks fine,” Adam says with a nod, and Jake caps the marker. Duke takes the cross from Jake, digs a small hole in the dirt with the toe of his boot, and stuffs it into the soil. ---- The memorial is brief, but no one has any problems with departing early; the mood these last few days has been depressing enough, and this is just making Cole’s absence even more fresh in their minds. Adam and Lucy, though, offer to stay. Andrew leads every else back to the apartments and generously proposes to return in a half hour to take them back, too. Adam stands with his hands stuffed in his pockets. His cheeks are nearly numbed by the cold, but he doesn’t care. The ink that makes up Cole’s name begins to blur with the emergence of tears. “I miss him,” Lucy says from his right. Her voice is barely audible, but he just manages to make out what she says. He turns his head toward her and wipes his face with the back of his hand. “It doesn’t feel right.” “I’m expecting him to, like, wobble down the street and ask why we’re here,” Adam says, and he laughs quietly. She lets out a short laugh, too, but it soon fades away with a sudden gust of wind. She crosses her arms and looks down at the ground, biting her lip. She hasn’t cried since her trip on the truck with Andrew; instead, she’s chosen to hold it in, bottle it up as long as she can, like always. But after two days, she can feel every memory of him, all her hopes, suffocating her. And she can’t take it anymore. It takes her a few minutes to compose herself, to get rid of that lump in her throat so she can talk again. She wipes her face with her sleeve and stares at the cross. “He thought he was a terrible person. He told me there was...no way he’d ever be able to forgive himself for...I don’t what. For everything, he said. And I wish he just understood how much he meant to all of us. I don’t think he did.” That might just be the worst part of all of this, for her. That his loss is punctuated by his own self-loathing, that for the last year and some months she’d lost everything and everyone but him, and that she couldn’t ask for anyone better. Every passing compliment, every contagious smile--after getting over the unfathomability of all of that being gone for good, it becomes clear in her head that she took him for granted. And it makes her angry, more at herself than at anyone or anything else. ---- Lucy can faintly hear the music seeping from her room as she continues down the carpeted hall. It gets louder as she proceeds forward, and when she reaches the suite, she presses her ear against the door. ...’cause he’s so hard to see, Come together right now over me, Oh, come together… Lucy opens to door and takes in the scene. Cole sits at the table with his forehead rested on his arm. She assumes he's sleeping based on his lack of response. The table's surface is adorned with a deep-red tablecloth, and a set consisting of a plate, a wine glass, and silverware is placed atop it at both ends. In the center, there's a simple box of crackers and a small Tupperware container filled with carrots. The radio sits on the counter to the right of the table. The bottle of wine lies on its side, the cork on the floor under the table. She notices that his glass is completely empty, but the one on the other end of the table is full. She closes the door quietly behind her and walks over. She crouches next to him and shakes his arm. "Cole," she prods. She repeats his name again, and he mutters something unintelligible. "Come on, let's go to bed." He sits up slightly and blinks a few times at the sight of her. He glances at his watch. 1:13. In the morning. "I waited," he says, and he rubs his eyes. "Since 8:00." Over five hours. She feels a pang of guilt and sighs. "I'm sorry," she says. "I--" "S'okay." It only hits her now how different he looks. He has a haircut, and for the first time in weeks his face is clean-shaven. He wears ordinary dress clothes, from a shirt and tie to his nice pair of loafers. He would look striking if it weren't for his glassy eyes and exhausted expression. He goes to rise but she clamps a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, right," he spits out, looking down at his leg. It's more stiff than painful now, but it's still irritating not being able to walk without some kind of assistance. "I'll help you," she offers. "No," he says immediately, and he waves his hand through the air vaguely. As soon as he stands he grabs onto the nearby wall. "Goodnight," he calls over his shoulder, and he keeps his hand pressed against the wall as he stumbles over to the bed. He collapses onto the mattress with a sigh and undoes his tie, tossing it across the room afterwards. The radio still plays, but fearing a hostile silence she lets it continue. It switches to a different Beatles song after a few seconds. She promised that she’d return earlier today, from long meetings and punching numbers, and in his excitement he’d set up this entire thing for her. Cleaned himself up, scraped together some food, picked out music. And then, she didn’t pull through. She’d planned her apology already, but now it seems insignificant when compared to the extravagance of this. Well, as extravagant they can get with conditions now. The hotel’s consuming more than they’re producing or bringing in from runs--a lot more. She, along with so many others, are struggling to come up with a solution that doesn’t include half of the residents going to bed hungry. That proves to be harder than anticipated, and has led to too many sleepless nights, for her at least. But who is she to think she has it rough? He’s still reeling over Billie’s absence, battling with the obstacle of his leg. Not to mention the nightmares. But he put that all aside for one night to do something nice for her, fully aware that when she’s been saying that she’s alright, she actually hasn’t been. This realization comes quickly, and it severely amplifies the guilt she felt when she walked in a few minutes ago. “I’m sorry,” she calls out after a while. She sits at the table now, looking down blankly at the crimson tablecloth. “It’s okay,” he mutters in response. “I don’t care.” He pulls the blanket over his shoulders. “Could you turn the music off?” She stands and walks over to the counter. She presses a button on the radio, and the CD stops playing. “You should’ve told me,” she says. “I wanted it to be a surprise. So...surprise.” She has the impulse to apologize again, but decides it’ll be a waste of her breath. Instead, she goes to flip off the lights, leaving the room pitch black until her eyes adjust to the dark. She makes her way over to the bed and slides in next to him. He doesn’t react at all. “Thank you,” she says after a couple of seconds. There’s a pause, until he responds with a curt “You’re welcome.” A long bout of silence commences after, and so she searches for a way to fill it. “And thanks for finally getting rid of your Chewbacca costume.” He turns and gives her an odd look. “What?” “You shaved.” “Oh,” he says, and he laughs quietly. He conceals it by clearing his throat, then turns again so his back is facing her. “Did it really look that bad?” She decides not to answer. “Ouch.” “It wasn’t...'terrible.”'' “Definitely not as good as yours.” He braces for the blow, and laughs when she slaps him hard on the shoulder. “Don’t dish it if you can’t take it, Kimbo.” “'Cole,” she says, but her attempt at a warning tone is betrayed by a laugh.'' “I’m '''kidding',” he says, and he turns his so their faces are a couple inches apart. Even in the dark, he can see the traces of her smile. “You’re really hard to be mad at.”'' She pauses, and decides that one final apology wouldn't hurt. “I’m really sorry--I thought I was gonna get here earlier but I got caught up in something and…” She trails off with a sigh. “Go ahead. Be mad. I deserve it.” “I told you, I’m trying. But I can’t. This was a dumb idea--it’s my fault. Can’t blame you for being gone when you deal with my shit all the time, anyway.” Her eyebrows crease with concern. “What are you talking about?” “Like it’s fun having to help me from...the bed to the counter, or listening to my stupid fucking nightmares. You don’t wanna deal with that. I get it.” “You’re not something I ‘deal with.’ I want to be here--I '''wish' I could be here all the time instead of these...stupid meetings.”'' “Skip one,” he suggests. “Take a day off. And then...I’ll set this all up again, and you can pretend you’re surprised. Then we’ll eat my gourmet dinner of crackers and carrots and listen to The Beatles.” His anger has abated surprisingly quickly, replaced with his joy at maybe being able to try this again. A day with her--that’s all he wants. “Tomorrow?” “Tomorrow,” he confirms. “Sounds perfect.” ---- Lienne's room is filled with the slumped, dejected figures of the group. They’re waiting for Karl to return, who said he’d get his hands on some more DVDs and pamphlets pertaining to Los Angeles. But it’s been forty five minutes, and he hasn’t returned. She herself is sitting at the counter, tapping her fingers on the surface. Slouching, her eyes still bloodshot. She wonders if anyone else is still thinking about Cole, too, but she can't force herself not to. He might've been a bit too hotheaded, made bad jokes--even if they were at his own expense--been too hard on himself when it wasn't needed, but she can't help but think that he was the crumbling pillar that held them all together. She hears a sniffle from beside her. The sound pulls her out of her thoughts and reminds her that Ivy is sitting on the stool to her right. Lienne offered that Ivy stay in her apartment, and she agreed. But based on Ivy's lack of speech these last couple days, Lienne knows she's not taking it well--probably worse than Lienne could have guessed. "Hey,” Lienne says, and she turns her head to the right. “You okay?” Ivy gives her head a quick shake. “We’ll all get past it,” Lienne adds and she provides Ivy with a gentle smile, but Ivy doesn’t even bother to look at her. Lienne sighs and rests her cheek on her fist, returning to staring at the bleak countertop. Adam sits on the room’s soft carpet, under the large window that gives them a gorgeous view of the rest of the sector. His forearm rests on his knees, and he stares out into the rest of the living room. Everyone’s here, milling around, talking in voices barely above a whisper. It’s almost irritating how dismal the mood is. There’s been enough crying these last couple of days to last him a lifetime, and he doesn’t enjoy the sympathetic glances he’s receiving from almost everyone. But he can understand why they’re looking at him with so much pity. He’d known Cole since the beginning. ---- Adam has never enjoyed watch duty. Especially not with a stranger and Roger. Adam’s not really sure what to make of this new guy--Cole. He seems pretty reserved, but nice enough. Certainly not a troublemaker from what Adam can tell. Adam isn’t surprised that Roger’s bothering him already. They sit on a set of lawn chairs in the parking lot of the motel, looking out into the rest of the neighborhood, lit only by the moon by this time of night. Roger nudges Cole on the arm, once again. “You should convince her to let me have a taste,” Roger says to Cole with a crooked grin. “If she really isn’t your girl.” Cole’s jaw clenches and he adjusts himself in his seat. “Or--or is it one of those ‘it’s complicated’ things?” “We’re not together,” Cole snaps, keeping his head forward. Roger laughs loudly at this for some reason, and Cole nearly recoils at the stench of his breath. “Maybe I have a chance, then. Obviously doesn’t have high standards,” Roger retorts, and he looks Cole up and down with a chuckle. “How is she, anyway? Decent, above average? Or is she one of those stubborn bitches?” Adam has the urge to step in, but he knows Roger will just laugh in his face--if not, he’ll definitely retaliate with violence. Belligerence is just in the guy’s nature. So Adam keeps his mouth shut, listening to the exchange with increased anxiety and awkwardness. He clears his throat a few times, shifts about in his seat, but they don’t take much notice of him. “Buddy,” Roger says, slapping Cole on the arm. Adam wonders why Cole doesn’t just walk away, head back to his room. Ditching his first night on watch wouldn’t look too good, or maybe he wants to appear like it doesn’t faze him. Those are Adam’s only two guesses. “I asked you a question.” Cole is still unresponsive. “I guess I’ll ask again--” Adam is caught completely off guard when Cole grabs Roger by the shirt and lifts him to his feet. Adam hops from his chair impulsively and takes a few steps back. Cole towers over Roger by a good six inches--he could easily give Roger a beating if he wanted, but he just keeps his hold tight on his collar. “Don’t say anything else about her, alright?” he says, and his voice is surprisingly calm and steady given the rage in his expression. Roger actually looks frightened. “Yeah, man. I get it. Chill the fuck out,” Roger says, spewing the words out quickly. Cole lets him loose, and Roger smoothes down his shirt. “Don’t gotta deal with this bullshit…” He kicks his lawn chair over and storms away, his demeanor not that much different from a child in the middle of a tantrum. Adam and Cole lock eyes for a moment, and they sit back down in silence. They sit for a while, exchanging no words, until Cole clears his throat. “Sorry,” he says. “I get...riled up too easily. Didn’t mean to cause a scene or anything.” He gives Adam a quick glance, then returns his eyes to the road. “It’s cool,” Adam says. There’s a short pause, but he decides to continue. "You’ve just gotta get used to him.” “Are you used to him?” “He usually leaves me alone so...it’s not that bad for me. But you...you might have some work ahead of you.” “Probably…” The conversation has clearly died out, and Adam’s not really sure how to start it up again. He decides it’s best not to, and they fall into a peaceful silence again. Maybe he should have stepped in, said something on Cole's behalf. It can't be easy being the new guy, and Adam feels a little guilty for not trying to make it easier for him. Add Roger into that mix, and he can't be having a good time. It's too late for Adam to do anything now, though. Cole breaks the silence a few minutes after it starts. “I’m not like that all the time,” Cole says. “I don’t want you to think I’m--I’m crazy or anything.” He looks at Adam apologetically. Almost shamefully, Cole looks away and ends up fidgeting with his fingers. “‘Course not, man. The guy’s a dick. I don’t blame you.” “Oh. G-good. Thanks. I’m trying to fix it, though. The temper thing.” Adam hesitates. “Good luck, I guess. Mediation helps.” “Are you a monk or something? You’re pretty chill, actually.” “Could fit in at the monastery, couldn’t I?” Adam runs a hand over his shaved head. Cole laughs and runs his hands through his own hair. “I’m too white to pull off that look. Maybe in a few decades.” Cole feels a little more at ease now. This guy’s not so bad. ---- Adam is jolted out of his memory by a harsh knock at the door. Glances pass between everyone, and Duke ultimately decides to head to the door. “Karl, man--” he begins, but he stops himself short when he sees two large men at the door, breathing heavily, sweat beads scattered here and there on their faces. “Whoa...everything cool?” “Is this the residence of Marigold Lienessen and Ivy Harris?” the darker of the two men asks. Duke looks back into the room, at the confused faces of all the others. “Yeah...why? Something wrong?” “Ms. Harris is now in our custody.” “She lives here. Pretty sure she’s not going nowhere with y’all.” “Sir, I don’t think you understand how serious this is.” The other man--blonde with close cropped hair--whispers something in the man’s ear. The man nods. “We also checked the residence of a Ms. Lucero Brinkley, but she wasn’t present. Any chance she’s here?” The blonde man glances inside. There are so many people inside, he assumes Lucy must be among them. “I don’t know,” Duke says. “Maybe if you explain what you need her for. Doubt she’s really in the mood to be bothered by you dudes.” “This will be a lot easier if you just let us inside, sir,” the blonde man says. He puts a hand on Duke’s chest to push him out of the way, but Duke grabs his wrist. “What’s the problem--” Duke begins, but the guard grabs his arm and twists it behind his back. Duke lets out a small screech, and everyone inside jumps to their feet if they weren’t standing already. Besides Farrah, who’s burdened with a heavy cast and crutches. The dark man makes his way inside and scans the room. His intimidating presence reduces the room to a hush. “Ms. Harris,” he begins, and it’s easy to spot Ivy. “Ms. Brinkley. You’ve been requested by Dr. Kastner.” Lucy steps forward, from behind Daniel. “Why? What’s wrong?” she asks. “Ms. Brinkley?” “Yes. That’s me.” “There were a few issues with your blood tests. It’s for your own benefit that you come with us, just so we can make sure everything’s alright. Same for Ms. Harris.” Lienne steps forward boldly, stopping just a few feet from him. “What’s wrong with her?” she asks, and her voice shakes. “That’s not within my jurisdiction to reveal, Miss,” he says. She’s irrationally annoyed by the lack of emotion in his voice. “Can I come with?” she asks. “I don’t want her--” “That unfortunately won’t be allowed. As soon as we’re done, they’ll both be brought back to their respective apartments. Now, please.” He turns and gestures for the both of them to follow. The blonde man tosses Duke back into the room, and he stumbles inside rubbing his wrist. None of them have any power to protest, so they watch as Lucy and Ivy disappear out the door. They shadow the two mysterious men down the corridor, and presumably toward the stairs. Lucy, nervous herself, looks down at Ivy and gives her a reassuring smile. Ivy, in response, grabs onto her arm and doesn’t let go, even when they’re ordered into the back seats of an ominous black car and driven to the front doors of a plain, dark building. Category:Dead Frontier Category:Dead Frontier Issues Category:Issues Category:Walkerbait22's Stories